


growing

by rjosettes



Series: Tumblr Fics [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac strips out of her hoodie and baggy jeans with a pinched face, tossing them into the bag. “Next time it’s your turn to play the guy,” she tells her girlfriend, who’s already rinsking off in the shower. “Someone called me sir when they bumped into me; I thought I was going to have to punch her in the face.” In reality, a wave of nausea had hit her so hard she’d thought they might have to cancel tonight. But she could never bear to disappoint Malia. Not to mention it had been weeks since they’d really gotten their hands dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	growing

**Author's Note:**

> As this is a serial killer AU, there are mentions of blood and murder and no hints of remorse here. The killing is never 'on-screen' or described in very graphic detail.
> 
> The ships here are Isaac/Malia, Scott/Stiles, Malia/Stiles, and Isaac/Scott. I didn't tag most of these for fear of clogging the tags but if anyone wants me to, I will!

Isaac strips out of her hoodie and baggy jeans with a pinched face, tossing them into the bag. “Next time it’s your turn to play the guy,” she tells her girlfriend, who’s already rinsking off in the shower. “Someone called me sir when they bumped into me, I thought I was going to have to punch her in the face.” In reality, a wave of nausea had hit her so hard she’d thought they might have to cancel tonight. But she could never bear to disappoint Malia. Not to mention it had been weeks since they’d really gotten their hands dirty.

“Sorry, babe,” she calls from under the spray, and Isaac pauses to watch her, from her fingers in her hair to the rusty water swirling around her feet and down the drain. She’s not sorry at all; she rarely is. Isaac is pretty sure she doesn’t have a very developed concept of gender to work with, even now. Dysphoria, though, she almost seems to get in a way. They’re still working on how to get her back into her coyote skin, hopefully part-time. “Are you coming in?”

She surveys the skin that’s visible in just her t-shirt and underwear. The thick, roomy clothes had kept her clean for the most part, and she’d washed up her hands just after. Though her skin is unmarked, she can feel the sticky residue of the night on her body, sweat and something more intangible. She grudgingly shimmies out of the rest of her armor.

Malia’s hands are all over her chest – her breasts, she reminds herself – and Isaac pushes them away. “They’re sore,” she complains. “I don’t do that to yours when you’re bleeding.”

“That means they’re growing,” Malia says sagely, ignoring the comment about her period. They both know it’s a bad topic to wander into. There’s no point ruining the buzz they’re still riding on. “I read a bunch of stuff on your phone the other night while I was waiting on Stiles.” She redirects her attention to Isaac’s curly hair, digging deep to press nails to scalp. “I got to skip this part. The puberty thing.”

“This is my second time,” Isaac says, but for once it’s not a gripe. It’s impossible to do anything but lean into Malia’s hands as much as possible while still staying upright when she breaks out the head scritches. “I wouldn’t have minded getting to skip the first go around. The bruises drew enough attention to my face already, and the acne didn’t help.” Malia kisses her while she has her eyes shut to block out any shampoo, taking advantage of the lessened gap in their height. “Seriously,” she continues as soon as they part, “I was a real pizza face at fourteen. I keep thinking it’ll come back now.”

They smell out every smidgen on blood on each other’s bodies, washing away every trace before they drip along the path to their bedroom, pulling clothes from each other’s drawers until they’re clothed enough to pass the night without wasting money on the heat. They curl into one another, face to face as always, arms thrown across bodies and noses almost touching.

“You saw Stiles again?” Isaac asks after she feels like it’s been long enough not to sound jealous. “I didn’t know that.”

Malia rolls her eyes, which means yes, and that she’s tired of Isaac acting like it’s a huge deal. It wouldn’t be, really. They’ve never had even an illusion of exclusivity, even though they’ve talked about it plenty. Malia likes boys a lot more than Isaac does, most of the time, and Isaac sometimes needs to feel like Malia’s not her only option – that just because they’re the closest thing to soulmates a cynic like her can believe in doesn’t mean there’s no one else out there that could see her the same way. She’s not mad that Malia is seeing someone. “Of course I did. The sex was good and he’s safe to tell everything.”

“He’s _human_ ,” Isaac reminds her for the hundredth time. “I don’t know why you’re bothering.”

Malia huffs at her. “He’s more like us than any human I’ve ever met. You’d like him if you met him. And his alpha.”

“Humans don’t have alphas,” she protests, but she’s too content now to bother too much with it. They’d taken care of one of hers tonight, almost perfect, and slowly. Everything, for now, is fine.

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Stiles is just as visually infuriating as Isaac would’ve expected. He does this horrible squinty thing with his eyes and his mouth is never closed for more than a second or two, even when he’s not talking. Though he falls a few inches short of Isaac, he takes up enough space with his arms for someone even taller when he’s gesturing, which is always. He doesn’t exactly get off on the right foot with her to begin with.

“A girl named Isaac?”

Her fists clench, fingers itching to sprout claws. “Is that too hard for you to remember? You can just call me Malia’s girlfriend, if you want.”

The guy has the audacity to laugh, looking to Malia for her to join in, which shows how little he knows her. Malia laughs at the drop of a hot when you’re funny and not at all when you’re expecting her to be polite. “It’s kind of weird is all, right?”

“My name was the only thing my father gave me and never tried to take away.”

Things are stilted for a while then, Stiles spending a good ten minutes trying to balance a knife by the point before he slams it right into the wood flooring, splaying out on his back. Malia goes and lies on her stomach next to him, playing with his hair. Isaac would never admit it, but she softens just a bit at the way he looks at Malia. She can appreciate a boy who knows a girl is too good for him and shows it.

Isaac briefly considers joining them despite not wanting to put her sweater on a strange floor. Hell, she doesn’t trust her own floor most of the time, depending on the sweater. She has nice clothes that she actually wants to wear now and she’s not ruining them to join the romantic coming of age moment happening on the floor. Luckily, the infamous alpha decides to make his entrance about that time.

Scott McCall is…smaller than expected. And sort of beautiful. Like, golden halo sort of beautiful, soft-looking brown hair and eyes, smiling though Stiles had said Scott was coming home from work. He strips his coat off and hangs it next to the door, lights up like Fourth of July when he spots everyone, and proceeds to flop to the wood, narrowly missing Stiles’s blade and knocking it away with an errant swipe. “Sleepover started without me?”

“I call the futon,” Malia declares immediately, ignoring Stiles’s look of indignation. “I’ll make Isaac fit.”

She’s pretty sure Scott hadn’t noticed her before, but he turns her way now, red eyes flaring. Maybe no one’s told him that three minutes after the fact is a little late to get territorial, but the lights show fades after a moment, replaced with that same warm grin. “I’m Scott,” he says, rolling over onto his belly so he can shuffle across the floor to be closer.

Later, she passes out on the futon with him curled around her in his sleep, the sounds of Malia and Stiles on the bed a fucked-up sort of lullaby.

________________________________________________________________________________

 

When she’d first met Malia, Isaac had been too new. Too reckless, too much of a type, no one to provide an alibi for her. The only thing going for her was the confusion passersby might have about her gender, which was nothing close to a comfort. Malia, though, had been a revelation. She struck with only claws and teeth, ripping and shredding like the wild animal she used to be. None of the human counter-measures Isaac tried to employ – that would only give them away. She was also entirely indiscriminate. Gender, age, hair color, dressed like an investment banker or a beggar – Malia honestly didn’t give a fuck.

“We can keep killing your dad,” she’d said clearly, without Isaac ever telling her, without a picture to go on. “We just have to spread it around.”

Things feel new again with Scott. She lies with her head in his lap, his gentle hands in her hair, and watches Stiles take care of his weapons. He doesn’t have the options they have, and though he struggles to keep up, he savors it just as much.

“He used to be worse,” Scott murmurs to her, just beneath the volume that his boyfriend can register. “If you can believe it. He couldn’t keep himself happy on one at a time. Also, I’m pretty sure he thought he was Dexter.” Isaac only knows who that is from the internet, but she laughs anyway, feeling her pulse thumping pressed against Scott’s body. Knowing he can feel it. “He’s doing better with a pack. It’s good for him.”

A pack. Malia comes out of the bathroom, towel around her hair instead of her body, bare to them all. She buries her nose in Stiles’s bloodied clothes and breathes, wrapping her arms around his waist gingerly, trying not to get stained again. Maybe Isaac still doesn’t get it; maybe she has a type here, too, and Stiles isn’t it. He’s the comfortable sort of annoying, now, though. It makes her think of Camden. There’s a reason she doesn’t help Malia with boys that could be his age. Like every middle-aged man with a haggard face and a pair of glasses is her father, every lanky, smartass boy is Camden just before the news came. Before he ever got to know about who she really way. She has to make sure the idea of him is still out there. She has to believe that.

Scott tugs gently at her curls and lowers his mouth to hers, slow and sweet, and she thinks they’re probably owed the bed tonight. As if Malia and Stiles ever had an objection to fucking on the floor. Tonight she deserves his hands where she needs, soothing the ache or sparking a fire, eyes burning red as he watches her. That someone else she was always searching for above her, mouth dropped open on a pant and expression full of wonder and desire. Maybe they’ll have to talk about a bigger bed.

A pack. Yeah. She can live with that.


End file.
